


starry night

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Burns, Gen, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, self projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: so, with that in mind, he continued, scribbling across his skin like an artist to paper.and in a way, the beautiful scar he would receive in the end was like art itself; an arrange of stars across a dark, murky sky.
Kudos: 10





	starry night

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't explicitly say, but hinata is the protagonist. 
> 
> just me self-projecting, dont hmu >:)

he could feel it swelling up inside him. 

_ fear. discomfort. sadness.  _

and he had no one to blame but himself. of course, his sorry ass had to be the one to ruin everything. he had to be a freak. 

currently, he was laid out across his bedroom floor, hair sprawled behind his head, face wet. no one had figured out what he was really doing yet

( _ panicking, considering cutting himself and maybe a bit of suicide)  _

and he was alone, but he could still hear their voices and laughter ringing out from behind his door. 

_ dumbass.  _

he wanted to grab his blade so badly, but he knew they would know. he knew they would see it in the changing rooms; he knew kageyama would wonder, worry, and he didn't want to make anyone worried. 

especially not him. especially not when he already wasted all his time on a burden like him. 

he couldn't even come out for his own sister’s birthday. absolutely pathetic. he was so selfish, thinking it was all about him. it was just a few people, his  _ family.  _ yet he couldn't even leave his goddamn room. 

_ useless. _

he decided to cut anyway. pushing himself off the ground, he walked over to his dresser drawer, sobs making their way out of him steadily, loudly. 

_ dont let them know.  _

he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself, steer himself just a little so they wouldnt know. he shouldnt bother them, waste their time.

he reached for the book stashed underneath his clothes (a volleyball book, of course), and slide open to page 101. the blade should be lying there, shiny and inviting, yet it  _ wasn’t.  _

_ fuck. _

where could it have gone? he never takes it out of his room. frantically, he began flipping through pages, sliding his fingers across the smooth, cold paper. 

did his mom know? 

there was no way; she would never think to search his drawers or a book anyway, right? 

right? 

by now he was in a full blown attack, mind degrading him and his body weaker, and he reached up to tug harshly at his ears repeatedly. 

if someone found the blade there would be no other explanation why it would be in a book, or randomly by itself. especially with his history of attempts and self-harm. 

he tried to think but it was so hard through the fog of panic and disgust (with himself); he wanted to die so badly. he could feel the creeping, slimy sensation of it,  _ suicide.  _

as he scrambled to come up with a plan, or a way to calm himself down, his eyes landed on his pencil and notebooks that he had left on his desk a while earlier, before the party. 

it wasn't his blade, but he supposed it should do. 

he crossed the room, one hand reaching to grab the pencil, while the other pushed his pants down to his thighs. 

he could definitely mark here; it was rarely seen and who would want to look there anyway? 

taking a deep breath, he began his assault on his poor skin, and the burning was so severe that he paused. 

he hadn’t given himself an eraser burn in so long, but he deserved this, needed this, and then he would try to find his blade. maybe he’d even feel better. 

so, with that in mind, he continued, scribbling across his skin like an artist to paper. 

and in a way, the beautiful scar he would receive in the end was like art itself; an arrange of stars across a dark, murky sky. 


End file.
